


Please Have Snow

by 27dragons



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Movies, Die Hard is totally a Christmas Movie, Drunkenness, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Snowball Fight, and then it's right back to fluff, like 2 seconds of sadness, so is Gremlins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9023266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: Tony has spent Christmas alone before. It's not a big deal. It's not.
---
Combined response to two tumblr prompts:- for your prompt thing <33 something with the team (like the original team from the first movie + any additions you want to have, but I'd love for the original six to be there) being a found family and just fluff (if you put some hints to stony into it I'd love it even more) but really I'm just here for fluffy family-feels because I could use some happy <333 (also ily and I hope you're having a good day <3)- tony/rhodey (otp or brotp) cuddling together after a long day playing in the snow?





	

 “But tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” Tony said.

“I know, Tony, and I’m _so sorry_ , but we’re right on the verge of splitting this thing wide open,” Steve said. “If we leave now--”

“You have to start over again, I know,” Tony sighed. “I was just really hoping we could be together for Christmas.”

“I’ll definitely be back for New Year’s,” Steve offered apologetically. “I’ll make it up to you then, I promise. And at least you have everyone else to hang out with, right?”

Except that he didn’t. Natasha had left on a mission a couple of days after Steve, and was maintaining radio silence. Thor was off Odin-knew-where, being a space prince. Bruce had gotten a lead on a researcher who’d had some breakthroughs that might help with controlling the Hulk, and gone off to science madly. And Clint was... Actually, Tony had no idea where the hell Clint was, but he hadn’t been seen for at least three days, so wherever he was, it wasn’t in Avengers Tower.

But Tony would rather have toenails pulled out than tell that to Steve, guilting him into cutting his mission short just because Tony was a little lonely.

He was a full-grown adult, for petesake. It wasn’t the first Christmas he’d spent on his own, not by a long shot. He’d hole up in the workshop and get some stuff done, knock down that tower of paperwork that Pepper had waiting for him, get ahead of the curve so that when Steve did come home, they could spend time together without Tony getting distracted.

That was a good plan. Very mature. Pepper would undoubtedly approve. Once he got deep into his work, he’d barely even notice that he was alone.

Maybe he’d have a little eggnog. It _was_ Christmas, after all.

***

“Tony.” Firm, maybe a touch annoyed, as if this was the fifth or tenth or hundredth repetition. “Tony, wake up.”

Where was he? By the hard, cold, flat surface under his cheek, the workshop. Shit, his back was going to hurt all damn day.

“C’mon, Tony.”

That sounded like Rhodey. Couldn’t be; Rhodey was off with his family for the holidays. Tony peeled one gummy eyelid open.

Rhodey’s face was right in front of him, tinted blue by the screen it was projected on. Ah. A call. Not here, then.

“Don’t you dare go back to sleep,” Rhodey said. “You need to get your ass up and into a proper bed or your back is going to hurt for the next week.”

Tony sat up with a groan, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” he snarked. “I fear you more than any other spirit.”

“Damn right you do,” Rhodey said. “How much eggnog did you drink?”

“Um.” Tony leaned over to pick up the carton. It was empty. So was the bottle of bourbon behind it. “All of it.”

“What do you mean, all of it? You didn’t let anyone else have any?”

Tony shrugged. “No one else to share with,” he said.

“ _What_?”

Tony tossed the empty eggnog carton into the trash. “No one else, pudding pop,” he said. “It’s a party of three in the Tower today: me, myself, and I.”

“What-- Didn’t I sit through a two-hour lunch where you told me in _painful_ detail all the things you were going to enjoy about Christmas this year, most of which were Steve and various parts of Steve’s anatomy that I’m much more comfortable not thinking about?”

“Yeah, well.” Tony had to swallow past a lump in his throat. Too much eggnog, he surmised. “The mission got extended. You know how that goes, right, Colonel? S’okay, he’ll only be a few days late. I’ll enjoy his anatomy then.”

Rhodey had that look on his face. The one that meant he was calling Tony’s bullshit. “And everyone else is gone, too?”

Tony shrugged. “The busy and exciting life of a superhero.”

“That’s it, I’m coming up.”

“What? No. No, that’s totally -- Rhodey, your mom will kill me if I interrupt your family Christmas.”

“Mom will kill me if I let you sit up there alone on Christmas,” Rhodey shot back, and that... did seem like something Roberta would find offensive.

“There’s like two feet of snow all over the city,” Tony tried “No way you’re getting your car through all that.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes so hard Tony could almost hear the muscles strain. “I’m not driving, Tones. I’m flying. So you’ve got about forty minutes to get your ass up to the landing pad and be mostly vertical to welcome me.”

“Won’t be much of a Christmas, just the two of us,” Tony said, his last hail mary defense.. “There isn’t even any eggnog.”

Rhodey didn’t even dignify that with an eyeroll, just cut the connection.

Tony considered the floor. He was _probably_ sober enough by now to stand up and make his way to the elevator. Right?

***

The frigid air on the landing platform was very sobering. Which was possibly why Rhodey had told Tony to meet him up there.

But Christ, Tony didn’t really _want_ to be sober. It was... half an hour until Christmas Eve, and Tony _hated_ being alone. Especially around Christmas, when the memories that swamped him were of that first holiday season after his parents had died: the way the old mansion had echoed in ways it never had before; the way he’d opened a drawer in his father’s study and found the gorgeous diamond necklace that had been intended for his mother’s Christmas gift, along with their traditional cruise tickets. The way Obie had insisted Tony attend all the scheduled festivities anyway, because it was important that he be seen -- but not actually _have fun_ at any of them, because he couldn’t be seen making light of their deaths The first Christmas he’d been all alone, sitting in the cold kitchen and wishing he could go back in time to tell himself that there was, actually, a worse fate than spending the day sniping at his father and enduring his mother’s insistence that they pretend, for once, to be an actual family.

By the time Rhodey landed, Tony was very, very sober, and very, very cold.

“Jesus, Tones, I didn’t mean you should wait out here the whole forty minutes,” Rhodey said. He nudged Tony back inside and climbed out of the War Machine, setting the armor to sentry mode. “Come on, let’s get you something warm to drink and put you to bed.”

“Drink, yes. Bed, no.” Sleeping was hard enough when Steve was gone even when it _wasn’t_ Christmas. “How about a movie marathon instead?”

Rhodey’s eyes narrowed. Much to Tony’s surprise, he capitulated. “Okay. But it’s Christmas, so Christmas movies of some sort. You round up some blankets or something, and I’ll make hot chocolate and popcorn.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Are we going to braid each other’s hair and paint our fingernails, too?” he snarked to hide the wave of relief and affection that threatened to overwhelm him.

“If you insist, but I draw the line at talking about boys,” Rhodey shot back. “You want marshmallows in this hot chocolate?”

“What the hell kind of hot chocolate doesn’t have marshmallows? I think there’s some peppermint sticks in the cabinet, too.” Tony pulled a stack of blankets from the cupboard, dropped them on the couch, and started rearranging pillows. “ _Die Hard_ totally counts as a Christmas movie, by the way.”

Rhodey came out of the kitchen to give Tony the bitchface. “The hell is wrong with you? You’re lucky I feel sorry for your ass right now,” he said, “or we would be having words, Stark.”

Tony flopped onto the couch and grabbed the best blanket. “Whatever. You love me.”

“God only knows why. I’m picking the next one!”

***

When Tony woke, he was lying on the sofa with two blankets half-smothering him, and Rhodey was sitting in the nearby armchair, hands wrapped around a mug and reading something on the tablet that was propped on his knee. The siren scent of coffee filled the air.

Tony sat up with a grunt. His hangover wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d been expecting. “Nnnngfffee?”

“Half a pot left,” Rhodey confirmed, long used to translating Tony’s assortment of mutters and grumbles. “If you go take a shower first and wash off the stink, I’ll even make breakfast.”

Tony considered that. Rhodey was actually a worse cook than Tony, but he could usually manage breakfast. “Bacon?”

“Sure thing,” Rhodey agreed, so Tony levered himself off the couch and shuffled off to take a shower.

Hot water took care of the worst of the hangover aches, and brushing his teeth made speech possible. Tony dug out one of Steve’s sweatshirts and pulled it on, and made his way back to the kitchen, where he found a fresh pot of coffee and only slightly-burnt bacon.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Tony said as he poured his coffee. “What’s the plan today? More movies?”

Rhodey held out his own mug for a refill. “Mom always makes cookies on Christmas Eve,” he said.

“We could try that,” Tony said, “but we do not have the best track record with baking, sugarplum.”

Rhodey grimaced; the last time they’d attempted baking, they’d ended up getting into a discussion about the structural integrity of various baked goods and lost track of time, and all the cookies had turned into charcoal. “Okay, maybe not,” he admitted.

Tony downed a strip of bacon and then made himself say, “You can go back to your Mom’s. I’ll be fine.”

“Nah,” Rhodey said. “Unless you want to come with me.”

Tony shook his head. “I’d just be in the way.”

Rhodey threw up a hand. “I keep telling you it’s fine, but okay, whatever. I’m not going.”

“I don’t want to make you miss your family thing,” Tony tried.

“Tone. Have you ever, in all our years together, made me do a thing I didn’t want to do?”

He actually hadn’t. He sometimes had to nag and wheedle, but Rhodey had made refusals stick often enough that Tony was pretty sure all the pestering in the world wouldn’t shift Rhodey if Rhodey didn’t want to be shifted. It was one of Tony’s favorite things about him. “All right, you win,” Tony grumbled. “Stay here and be bored, then.”

“I don’t know about that,” Rhodey said. “That snow out there looks like packing snow.”

“What, you want to have a snowball fight like we’re kids?”

Rhodey sipped his coffee smugly. “Hell, no. We’re going to build forts, and _then_ have a snowball fight to determine who’s the better snow engineer.”

Before he could deride that idea, Tony’s mind started blossoming with structural possibilities. Height, curvature, thickness... “Oh, you’re on,” Tony said. He tossed back the rest of his coffee and shoved another two pieces of bacon in his mouth. “You’re going _down_ , Rhodes.”

***

“How,” Rhodey complained. “How can we be sweaty _and_ freezing. This is totally unfair.”

They looked more like animated snowpeople than human beings as they pushed through the door into the common floor. They’d been out in the snow for most of the day; the sky was beginning to turn purple in anticipation of sunset. Tony was pretty sure he’d stopped feeling his toes a couple of hours ago, and Rhodey had ambushed him and dumped a handful of snow down the back of his neck so his shirt was still damp and unpleasantly clammy every time he shifted position. “I don’t know, sourpatch, but when you’re right, you’re right. Showers. Long, hot showers. And then food.”

“Deal,” Rhodey said.

“And I am so totally the boss of snow engineering,” Tony added. “If DUM-E hadn’t gotten involved, I would have completely owned your ass.”

“Yeah? And who was it that decided he needed the ‘bots to help out, hm?”

“All I’m saying is, a couple of minor tweaks to his algorithms, and we’d have had you.”

“You know what, it’s Christmas; I’m going to let you think that,” Rhodey said. “It’s my gift to you.”

“Don’t be jealous of my beautiful brain, platypus.”

Rhodey snorted. “You’re buying dinner,” he told Tony. “I want Chinese.”

“That place on 47th with the dumplings?” Tony suggested. “Streets should be cleared enough by now. I’ll have JARVIS put in an order as soon as we’re out of the shower.”

“Okay, but tip extra,” Rhodey said. “Dragging them out here on Christmas Eve in the snow is kind of a dick move.”

“Yes, dear. JARVIS?”

“Understood, sir. Additional percentages calculated based on holiday service and hazardous weather conditions, in addition to the usual.”

Even the hot water of the shower didn’t fully warm Tony up; he felt fine when he got out, but was chilled again before he’d finished drying off.

By the time he’d dressed and made his way back to the common room, Rhodey was already sprawled out on the couch with a vast array of food spread out on the table. “What the-- JARVIS, did we order all this?”

“Forgive me, sir; I didn’t think to adjust the usual order.”

Tony narrowed his eyes up at the nearest camera. “You don’t fool me, JARVIS, you’re trying to trick me into having leftovers on hand so I won’t be tempted to skip meals for the next week. Steve put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“Captain Rogers did urge me to be vigilant about maintaining your health to his exacting standards, sir.”

Tony grumbled and muttered to hide the warmth and affection he felt at that. He picked up the container of beef and broccoli and flopped down beside Rhodey on the couch, leaning into Rhodey’s side.

Rhodey didn’t even put up a token protest, just lifted his box of sesame chicken out of the way and wrapped his arm around Tony’s shoulders. He must have been feeling chilly, still, too.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Rhodey asked after they’d eaten in silence for a while. “Another movie? Chess? Video games?”

“I want to watch a movie,” Natasha said.

Tony startled so badly he nearly fell off the couch, and Rhodey flailed and yelped.

“ _Jesus_ , Romanov,” Tony gasped, putting his hand over his racing heart. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

Natasha looked up from perusing the remaining containers on the table to smile at him sweetly. “Classified. Is there any lo mein?” Tony pointed at the correct box, and she made a delighted sound as she scooped it up. “Good, I won’t have to share with Clint this time. Movies,” she continued. “Something terribly sentimental. Or maybe _Die Hard_.”

“We watched that last night,” Rhodey told her, still sounding half-breathless.

“Oh. _Die Hard 2_?” She dug into the lo mein like a starving hyena, none of the delicate grace and poise she exhibited in public. Every time Tony saw her acting more like a caricature of a fraternity jock than a cultured ingenue, he loved her just a little bit more.

“We marathoned the whole series,” Tony said. “How about Gremlins?”

She made a face. “Nah, I’d rather do--”

The elevator door slid open and Clint staggered out. He was dressed in a Santa suit that had seen better days, wrinkled and patched, the white fur trim closer to grey. His arm was bound in a makeshift sling. The other arm was holding a huge red sack slung over his shoulder. “Oh, man, I made it!” he gasped. “Sorry I missed Christmas, everyone, but there was this--”

“It’s still Christmas Eve,” Natasha said.

“What?”

“Christmas Eve,” Tony repeated. “You didn’t miss anything.”

Clint’s face lit up. “Yeah? Awesome!” He looked around carefully, eyes lighting on the table covered with Chinese takeout boxes. “Ooh, Chinese! Any lo mein left?”

“No,” Natasha said, clutching the box against her chest.

“Liar,” Clint teased. “Be nice or you won’t get your present.” He tromped over to the Christmas tree and started unloading terribly-wrapped packages from his sack.

Natasha pretended to consider it. “Is my present better than lo mein?”

“Nothing,” Clint said solemnly, “is better than lo mein.”

Rhodey cracked up, and Tony thought he might finally be getting warm. “How has it never occurred to you,” Rhodey chortled, “to just get two orders of lo mein?”

“Excuse you, genius here, we tried that,” Tony said, unable to keep the grin off his face. “But these two _still_ fight over it every time.”

“What if--”

“Well met, my friends, on this festive occasion of midwinter celebration!”

All discussion stopped as Thor strode into the room, his arms spread wide. Asgardians hugged a lot, Tony had long since surmised. Thor swept Clint and Natasha up in one enormous embrace. Natasha laughed and Clint wriggled around to get his injured arm out of the middle of the press.

“C’mon, sugarlump,” Tony said in an undertone to Rhodey as he stood. “If you think I’m going to let you off the hook...”

Honestly, Tony might as well not have stood up; Thor towered over him either way. The hugs weren’t so bad, though, really.

“Have I correctly struck the mark?” Thor asked. “Our winter Jul, which closely coincides with many Midgardian customs, is some few days past, but Jane promised I would not miss your celebrations.”

“You’re right on time,” Rhodey assured him. “Christmas is tomorrow.”

“Excellent! I have brought with me many delicacies for our feast, including several bottles of fine mead, roasted nuts and meats, and pastries.”

“Those berry tarts?” Clint asked hopefully.

Thor beamed proudly. “Indeed, I did recall your fondness for the dish, and was certain to procure several for your delight.”

“Dude, we have pie _here_ ,” Rhodey scoffed.

Clint jumped in to defend his favorite Asgardian dessert, but Tony was distracted by the vibration of his phone in his pocket. He groaned and fished for it. “If this is Pepper, I’m docking her pay. She _promised_ she wasn’t working today.” Tony turned over the phone. “Oh, it’s Bruce!”

He flicked the Answer button. “Bruce, buddy! What’s up? Any luck with the whole delta radiation modulation?”

“A couple of possible angles, actually,” Bruce said. “But the university laboratories are shut down for winter break -- at least, the ones that are still open are only open because they’re already in use. So anyway, I’m back in New York, and I thought I’d see if there was anything, you know, happening, or if I should just head back to my room when I get to the Tower.”

“As it happens,” Tony said, “pretty much everyone’s here and ready to party. Thor even brought snacks and hooch. Come on up, we’re going to throw in some movies and make a party of it.”

***

They were _howling_ with laughter. They’d been trying to watch _Miracle on 34th Street_ for the last three hours, but they had to keep pausing it to explain some tradition to Thor, or to tell a story from their own past Christmases, or to -- what even the fuck, Clint -- pop popcorn and make handmade popcorn-and-cranberry garlands.

Bruce had made not one but three big pots of hot chocolate (regular, peppermint, and salted caramel), and it turned out that Clint was right about the Asgardian berry tarts, though Tony was more partial to the meat and vegetable skewers, because despite not containing a single animal or plant that Tony had ever heard of, they somehow tasted like nostalgia, like Jarvis’ roast turkey and Ana’s lamb stew and Rhodey’s mom’s baked ham.

Tony had sent out for a second round of Chinese food to supplement the Asgardian snack basket, because Thor, and included _four_ orders of lo mein because Rhodey really had to witness the hilarious murderfun that was Natasha and Clint squabbling over them, both trying to eat as fast as possible while also attempting to steal containers from each other.

It was the best Christmas Eve Tony’d had in years. Maybe even decades. The only thing that would make it better would be if Steve had been able to wrap up his mission in time to join them.

Tony suppressed the sudden lump in his throat and the desperate wish to have Steve at his side by launching into a description of the snow fort contest. He was laughing again soon enough as he and Rhodey talked over each other, pushing and shoving like unruly nine-year-olds, each trying to claim victory and explain their logic.

“No, I’m telling you, it was a sound idea!” Tony protested again, still laughing even though his sides ached. “Look, I’m going to go out to the landing platform and get a bucket of snow and bring it in here, and I’ll show you!”

“Will not the milder climate indoors cause the snow to melt too quickly?” Thor asked, and the son of a bitch _knew_ what he was doing, Tony could see it in the way his eyes sparkled, because here it came--

“Miniature speed snowforts!” Clint challenged, because the Avengers were nothing if not obsessively competitive about _everything_. “Everyone get a bucket and we’ll see who does best.” He smirked. “Fucking Iowa winters had to be good for _something_.”

“I’m in,” Bruce said, to everyone’s surprise. He shrugged bashfully at the stares he got. “Tony’s structural build gave me an idea for forced crystallization that I want to try.”

“Okay,” Tony said, standing up and clapping his hands. “I’ll go round up some buckets and tubs, and--”

_THUMP._

“What the fuck?” Rhodey said, looking up.

Clint rounded his eyes. “Santa?”

“Dumbass,” Natasha said. Tony threw a piece of popcorn at Clint, and was not at all surprised when Natasha leaned over to snap it out of the air.

_THUMP thump THUMP!_

“Okay, seriously.” Tony strode for the stairs. “I told DUM-E and U _three times_ that they weren’t allowed to decorate the penthouse, I don’t care how--” He was shocked silent as he threw open the door to the stairs. Vaulting over the railing to bypass the last flight -- _THUMP!_ \-- was Steve.

He was still dressed in his uniform and it was dirty and torn in places and there was a cut on his forehead bleeding down the side of his face, and Tony had never seen anything more perfect.

Then Steve spotted Tony and broke out into a smile, and _now_ Tony had never seen anything more perfect. “Tony!” he said, hurrying forward, arms outstretched. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”

Tony let himself be swept up in Steve’s embrace. “I thought you weren’t coming for a few more days,” he mumbled into Steve’s shoulder.

“I just couldn’t stand not seeing you for Christmas,” Steve sighed. “So we hustled a little bit and got it taken care of early.”

“I’m glad you did,” Tony said. He leaned up for a kiss, quick and fierce. “I’m happy to see you.”

“Ug, save it for the bedroom,” Natasha complained, but when Tony turned around, she was smiling brightly. She reached past Tony to hug Steve as well, then hooked her hand around Steve’s elbow to drag him out of the stairwell. “Come on,” she said, “we’ll get you patched up while we watch the rest of this movie, and then we’ve decided we’re going to go down to Central Park and have a snowball fight.”

“With teams,” Clint put in, tossing Steve a lazy salute of welcome. “I called Thor.”

“Aye, we shall take all comers and leave our opponents to rue the days of their birth!” Thor exclaimed exuberantly.

“Or, you know, just very cold,” Rhodey followed. “Hey, Cap, glad to see you made it back.”

“A snowball fight in Central Park, really? It’s almost midnight,” Tony said.

Natasha smirked at him. “Your point?”

Tony rolled his eyes and Steve laughed. “Sounds great to me,” Steve said. He wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders as if reluctant to let go, even for a moment. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

Tony looked up at Steve’s eyes, happy and bright. Merry Christmas, indeed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the lyrics of "I'll Be Home for Christmas".


End file.
